


Shirts

by lyricalsoul



Series: Mycroft's In Love [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Peeved!Mycroft, Tired!Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is peeved about his shirts. Lestrade is sleepy, and not feeling very talkative. Things are declared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shirts

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of fluff to read on a lazy Saturday. Thanks for all your Kudos - stop by and say hi... I don't bite. Gregory does that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

 

“Gregory…”

I groan and shove my head further under the pillow. “Go away. Too early.”

“Gregory, wake up.” Mycroft’s tone is part annoyed, part imperious.  Only he can sound that way at fuck o’clock in the morning. “I need to speak with you.”

“At me, more like.” I pull the pillow off my head and turn to the side, where Mycroft is frowning down at me, holding a pile of his shirts. “What’s that?”

He sighs. “If you aren’t fully awake, this conversation will be in vain.”

“Don’t let that stop you.”

“Gregory.”

“Time is it?”

“Four twenty-seven.”

“I’ve been asleep for a whopping hour, so if you’re of a mind to do something kinky with my body and those shirts, I don’t mind if you just go ahead while I doze.” That’s one of the perks of being with a bloke – being fully alert for snogging or sex is not a requirement sometimes. “Just cover me back up when you’re done.”

“I am not here for kinky sex or… snogging, Gregory. And I’d hardly use a shirt or do it while you slept. Or does sleeping during sex go on the list of fetishes?”

“Ask me again when I’m fully awake.” Right now, I want him to stop his watch from doing that annoying ticking. “Either way, it’s too early for whatever all this is, Mycroft.”

“I recall saying the same to you two evenings ago, but you were insistent, remember?” He closes his watch. “I have to be off soon, and need to speak with you. Please,” he adds, and it’s a bit like a shark asking you to swim closer to it can eat you.

“Fuck.” I toss the pillow in his general direction and roll over, propping my head on my palm. “What?”

My snappish tone doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. “You are, of course, aware of the adage, you break it, you buy it?”

I sigh, and fight the urge to lie back down. “Too early, Mycroft. Speed it along, will you?”

He clears his throat, and holds up the shirts. “These are my shirts. To clarify, these are my hand-tailored shirts.”

“And they are lovely. Hand-tailored, you say? Exquisite. Henry does a great job." I pull the eider over my head. “See you later.”

A tug on the eider sends it to the end of the bed in a heap. “I want to know what you plan on doing about my shirts.” His tone suggests that whatever I’m to do, I’d better start doing it now.

“I hate that damned tone, Mycroft. I’m not a mind-reader, or a Holmes. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“You’ve ruined my shirts. Two of them are my favourites.”

“Oh, is that it? Well, I’m very sorry. Enjoy your day. Make love, not war.” I yawn. “Call me later.”

“Gregory.”

“Mycroft…” I think I’m whinging. “Let me sleep. Only been here an hour. And I had to talk down a guy with a rifle. I deserve a bit of a nap, I think.”

“There are five shirts,” he continues as if I haven’t said a word. “Each shirt is damaged. In particular, this one, which is missing buttons that were made to order. You caused that damage.”

“Hmph.” I look at the light blue shirt, and recall how sexy he is in blue, and how I took pleasure in sending those mother of pearl buttons flying all over the kitchen. I sigh with longing, and roll over on my back. My hand drifts down, and I make lazy circles on my stomach, smiling as his eyes track the movement of my hand. “So, you want me to buy new shirts for you? I can do that later. M&S is having a clearance today. Saw it in the paper.”

He sighs. Not a normal sigh, like normal people. No, when Mycroft sighs, you don’t hear it, you feel it. It was exclusively reserved for Sherlock and his antics, but since I’ve started hanging out at his place, I see it directed at me more than I’d like. “I do not frequent places that have clearance sales. Perhaps you missed the part where I said ‘hand-tailored’? And do not think you can distract me by doing…that. I will not be deterred.”

“Not trying to deter you. Just…” I frown, wishing I knew what the hell he was on about.

“In addition to missing buttons, there are… stains. That will not do.”

“Of course not. What kind of … stains, Mycroft?” I lift my eyebrows suggestively.

“Again, not deterred. I have made an appointment with Henry. Take them and have them repaired.”

“'Take them’? I’m not one of your minions.”

“Gregory, I know it’s early, and you are suffering from a lack of sleep, but do let’s focus. The least you can do is ask Henry to replace the buttons, since you caused the damage in your unbridled haste to undress me.”

“It takes two to tango, Mister. I seem to recall you pleading with me to ravish you just the other day. Besides, don’t you have people for this? Where’s the bloke that does the laundry?”

“You want me to give these shirts to Peter? Have you lost your mind?”

“Probably, since I don’t see the big deal.” I shrug. “He knows you’ve got a chap… he washes the sheets, which, if you ask me, is more embarrassing than some missing buttons. You think Henry will… what, gossip about you? He probably has his own bit of rough of his own stashed away in Aldershot.”

“Detective Inspector…”

“Stop calling me that, Mycroft. You know it irks me.”

“I am aware of the effects on you, as it is the same effect the term ‘bit of rough’ has on me. Also, since you seem to be utterly confused as to my request, I reasoned that using your title would impress upon you the… finer points you seem to be missing.”

“Talk, talk, talk!” I sit up and glare at him. “What is it going to take to get you to shut up so I can get some sleep? You want me to go to your Savile Row tailor, and say ‘hey, sorry old chap, but I’m in love with Mycroft Holmes and can’t resist ripping his shirts off so that I can put my lips on his soft skin, lick my way around his neck, and shag him for hours while he’s wearing nothing but one of your exquisitely made shirts and woolen socks…would you mind popping those buttons back on’?” I snatch the shirts from him, shove them under the pillow, and lie on top of it. “I’ll do it, but right now, I need to get some damned sleep.”

Mycroft is standing there, stone still, his eyes narrowed. “Gregory.”

“Enough of that now. I said I’ll do it.”

“You’re…” He stops, clears his throat. “You’re in love with me?”

Shit. “I said that out loud?” Shit, shit, shit.

“You did.”

“Well, feel free to ignore me. I’m sleep deprived.”

“Are you?”

He says it casually, like he’s asking the time, and couldn’t care less about the answer. But. There’s something in his eyes, in the tilt of his head that screams ‘vulnerable’ to the copper in me. The thought that I can potentially hurt the ‘British Government’ is both humbling and frightening, since a bad break-up could have me solving crimes on an ice cutter. But, I won’t take it back. “I didn’t mean it to come out that way – I wanted to tell you in a more romantic setting, but no going back now. I… is it all right with you? I mean, if you’re not there, or just want to be…whatever, it’s fine. I know I’m not long separated, and this could be taken as a rebound, or mid-life crisis, and I’m no good at all this, but-“

“Gregory, please.” He’s switched to using his ‘you can’t grasp basic concepts’ tone. “I must go. We’ll talk about _this_ later.” He steps closer, and runs a hand through my hair. “I have never been in love with anyone, and I’m afraid that I do not know how to go about it, or really, if it’s possible for me to do so. I don’t think that caring for someone is an advantage, but somehow, it seems less an axiom when I am with you. The truth is that when you are looking at me with those beautiful eyes, when you’re sitting with me, lying with me, I feel … something deep and meaningful… I do not know if it is love, but I do like the feeling, and constantly find myself constantly seeking it out.” He smiles, and pets my hair again. “Having said that, I am not averse to the…legwork involved in returning your feelings, if you will be patient. I am not an easy man to be with. In any capacity.”

“Tell me about it,” I say with a yawn. “So, all that to say…?

He laughs. “It’s fine, Gregory. Just fine.” He swoops in for a quick, hot kiss, but pulls back just as I start to enjoy it. “For you, I am willing to give those shirts to Peter to take care of. His thoughts on the matter are unimportant to me.” He takes the shirts from the beneath the pillow. “If he says one untoward word, gives so much as a sideways glance, I will-“

“Mycroft, if you send Peter to the cornfield, we’ll have to break in someone new, and those jeans you like me in will never be the same.”

“I have never sent anyone to a cornfield. Why should I do such a thing?”

“It’s a telly reference. Twilight Zone?” At his look, I shake my head. “Forget it. Peter won’t judge… I think I saw him staring at your arse the other day.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Flattering, but highly unlikely.”

“Says you. It’s such a nice arse…who wouldn’t want to look at it?”

“You are incredibly biased, but I appreciate the compliment. Have a good rest, Gregory.”

I yawn, and settle against the pillow. “You know, taking the shirts to your tailor might not be all that bad. The look on his face when he sees the one where it looks like it got chewed by a wolf may be worth it…”

“That would be something, though I think he would most likely refuse to tailor my shirts for a bit. But, it’s an idea.” He runs a hand along my body, and laughs. “What you do to me. Goodbye, Gregory.”

I smile as he leaves the room.

Fin.

 

 

 


End file.
